


writing workshop

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [68]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 22:17:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11769516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: Imagine Jamie and Claire are partners during a writing workshop...





	writing workshop

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/163564513435/hi-i-was-wondering-if-you-will-continue-the-brian) on tumblr

Claire Beauchamp tapped her foot impatiently on the linoleum, lips pursed, watching the other students file into the room.

A creative writing class – a birthday gift from her roommate Geillis. It would be a nice break from all those biology and physiology courses, she had said – and a chance to meet people who weren’t interested in sickness for a living.

Claire’s eyes followed two sensitive-looking men – all henley shirts and skinny jeans and moccasins – twins – as they shuffled in and sat near the door.

When was the last time she had had to write something that wasn’t a lab report or a research paper? What business did she have trying to string her own words together, when clearly there were so many more qualified people who would gladly do it? Who had more experience doing it?

“All right!” he head swiveled to the center of the horseshoe-shaped tables, where an older but still strikingly beautiful woman threw her thick black hair back over her shoulders. “Welcome to the Writing Workshop. Where there are no rules, except to be nice to your fellow writers and their fragile egos.”

Nervous, tired, tentative laughter.

“I’m Diana, and I’ll be your instructor.” She bent to type into her laptop, turquoise rings flashing in the fluorescent light. “We’ll be going through a series of three prompts today, and I’ll allocate – ”

Quietly the door swung open, and a strikingly tall man with a shock of red hair slunk in, heading for the only open seat – beside Claire.

“And I’ll allocate fifteen minutes per prompt. Then we’ll workshop a bit, take a quick break, and we’ll start it all over again.”

The young man flipped open his backpack and pulled out a battered laptop, emblazoned with heavy metal band stickers and a gigantic saltire flag. His elbow brushed against hers – Claire turned, and he offered a quick, devastating smile of apology.

“Now, you don’t have to follow the prompt, of course – but it’ll be easier for your workshop partner if you do. Ready?”

Claire swallowed.

“All right – the first prompt is just one word, ‘surprise.’ Fifteen minutes. Go.”

Immediately there was a rush of paper as the students began furiously scribbling in their notebooks.

Mind absolutely blank, Claire stared at the blinking cursor on her laptop screen.

Bloody hell.

The man to her left also did not start right away – but turned his head, clearly thinking.

Well then, Beauchamp – you’ve had plenty of surprises in your life. Should be easy to translate one into a writing exercise…

_I don’t think I ever said goodbye. “Good morning,” definitely. “I love you,” I hope. But how could a five-year-old ever consider that the life she knew would ever change?_

_My mother was always very well-dressed – flowing skirts and colorful blouses and beautiful, shining hair. She didn’t have the curls I was born with – those came from my father’s side. He was always much more sedate – I don’t ever remember him not wearing a business suit. He worked a lot, had built a successful law partnership and was willing to do whatever it took to keep the practice going._

_I don’t remember him nearly as well as my mother. He would read to me at night, and tuck me in, and taught me how to ride a bicycle when I turned five (and kissed my skinned knees all better). But my memories are more like images – disconnected snatches of smells and sounds and the way the light would shine off his glasses when he worked late in his home office._

_Mommy and I spent a lot of time together – in the park, at the library, at home playing with dolls or cooking in the kitchen. She loved me, and cared for me, and even at that young age I knew I was happy._

_I’ve never liked driving – or riding in – convertibles because the last time I saw them, Daddy was tooting the horn of his Jaguar and Mommy was holding on to her hat with one hand and blowing me kisses with the other._

_So happy – not knowing that so soon, it would be so sad…_

Fifteen exhausting minutes later, she saved her draft.

“All right!” Diana enthused from the front of the room. “Now find a workshopping partner, swap stories, and take a few minutes to read. Remember, positive feedback is always best!”

“Excuse me?” Claire looked over her shoulder to see the latecomer, her neighbor, smiling tentatively. “Would you mind swapping stories?”

Just the briefest of hesitations. “Oh – no, no that would be great.” Carefully she handed over her laptop and he gently took hers.

“Now, remember – please focus on positive feedback.” Diana raised her voice over the hum of conversation. “And we’re going to assume this is all fiction – that it’s not autobiographical.”

“Mine is autobiographical,” Claire said quietly. “And I want you to tell me if it’s terrible.”

“That’s just as well – because mine is, too. Well – it’s a true story, anyway,” he amended. Smiling.

She held his gaze, but then tore away. “Well then – let’s read?”

He nodded, and turned toward her screen.

She inhaled softly, browsed the open windows in his taskbar – WhatsApp, Word, Firefox, iTunes – and shifted her eyes to the top of the page.

_Ellen MacKenzie was the most beautiful girl in town – so all the men said, anyway. And when she announced her engagement to Malcolm Grant, the star quarterback of the high school football team, all of Leoch knew that a big celebration was in order._

_For Ellen’s parents were the wealthiest family in the tiny town – and Malcolm’s father was business partners with Ellen’s father. The couple had grown up together – had dated throughout high school – and a marriage uniting the two families was a foregone conclusion._

_Ellen’s best friend growing up was a quiet boy whose father worked as the janitor in Mr. MacKenzie’s office. Murtagh FitzGibbons always looked out for Ellen – keeping her safe from the mean girls and boys on the playground when they were little, fighting off drunken football players at high school parties when they got older. He was in love with her – and she knew it – but they both knew he wasn’t right for her. That their families would never approve._

_Of course Murtagh was invited to Ellen’s engagement party – for he was to be the Man of Honor at her wedding. As Murtagh had no date of his own to bring to Ellen’s party, he brought along his cousin Brian Fraser – who was visiting from out of state._

_The story goes that Murtagh introduced Brian to Ellen two days before the engagement party, at a casual family barbeque held in the backyard of the MacKenzie estate. Then Murtagh got distracted and needed to help organize the food and drinks, leaving Brian and Ellen relatively alone in the gazebo on the pond in the far corner of the backyard._

_Two days later, the guests arriving for Ellen’s big engagement party had to be turned away. For Ellen had run off with Brian Fraser during the night, destination unknown. Murtagh secretly followed behind a few days later, and served as the only witness to their wedding._

_Life after that was hard for Brian and Ellen, but they knew they had done right…_

Claire gasped, laying one hand flat on her sternum. What a surprise, indeed – and such a sweet, gentle story this man had shared with her.

“You say this is a true story?” she whispered hoarsely.

He turned from her screen and smiled tentatively. “Yes, it is. Brian and Ellen were my parents. Murtagh is my godfather.”

Her eyebrows lifted almost to her hairline in surprise.

“And I’m reading your story correctly – we have something in common. We love our parents, and miss them greatly.”

Her eyes shone with unbidden tears.

His eyes, so blue, locked with her own.

“I’m Jamie,” he whispered. Mesmerized.

“Claire,” she rasped.

“Time’s up!” Diana’s voice cut through the classroom chatter. “All right, ten minute break and then we’ll be back at it!”

Jamie boldly reached over to take Claire’s hand.

“Do you mind if we find somewhere else to go, Claire?”

Her heart stuttered, and she didn’t stop to think. Only reached over, closed her laptop, and stood.

“Let’s go.”

His teeth flashed in an ear-splitting grin, and he packed his own bag, took her hand, and let her lead him into the hallway.


End file.
